Riddle Me This!
by HideBehindASmile72
Summary: Darryl Blake is haunted every night in his dreams by Edward Nigma and his riddles that he can never solve. Is it simply coincidental that The Riddler is always showing up, or is there  more to the mysterious man in green that taunts him every night?


"_Riddle me this! What is the beginning of eternity, the end of time and space, the beginning of every end and the end of every race?"_

"_No response? Hah! Of course not! You're foolish if you think you can ever defeat me, the great Edward Nigma! Isn't it terrible that this poor lady is going to die at my hands because you were just too plain stupid to solve a simple riddle? I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you can never live up to me; you never have managed to, have you?"_

Cold sweat. Dark room. All alone. A glow sneaks its way out from the crack beneath the bathroom door on the other side of the room. Overwhelming nausea and a blaring headache; thoughts racing.

_What the hell was that? _I think to myself as I jerk awake to a sitting position. Between desperate gasps for breath, I quickly scan the room. In the darkness I can distinguish the outlines of everything that is typically in our bedroom, from the TV on the wall to the mirror on the left, to the dresser on the right. _Everything seems in order, I guess. Was that really just a dream… a nightmare? It just seemed so… so damn realistic! There's no way my small mind could come up with something as creative as that. Seriously, that just was way too…surreal._

"Oh, did I wake you Darryl?" whispers my wife, Valerie, with concern as she slips back under the blankets. "I thought I snuck out pretty quietly…"

"Oh, no, of course not," I respond distantly.

"Oh no, don't tell me that clown was in your dream again…" she says with a sigh, noticing and recognizing the state I'm in. "You scare me just telling me about that freak!"

_There's no sense lying to her, _I think to myself. _The psychotic man in green has made yet another return to my nightmares to taunt me. He has managed to interrupt my sleep yet again to present me with another puzzle like the others that I never seem to be able to find the solution to. Why is he always so threatening; so personal? As far as I know, there's no one in my life that even comes close to resembling him in any way, shape, or form, so why should I envy him? How can I attempt to live up to someone's standards if I've never even met them? Even more puzzling than the riddles themselves is the grand scheme of things. The man who haunts me nearly every night is a complete stranger, yet he just seems so… familiar. You wouldn't think that something as silly as a reoccurring dream would bother me, yet every time I wake up shaking. This so-called Edward Nigma is really starting to push me to the edge…_

"_Riddle me this! What is it that no man wants to have but no man wants to lose?" _

"_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick Tock! Time's up, as usual. Concede defeat again and just finally admit that I am better than you in every way! I'm more intelligent, clever, and cunning than you! Hell, I'm even more attractive than you now, aren't I? Why do you find it so hard to accept? Face the music! Wake up and smell the coffee!"_

_ Twice in one night? Seriously? Will this figment of my imagination ever leave me alone? Can't I just get one God damn decent night of sleep! Why me? Why now?_

Upon coming to the realization that I was part of a losing battle, I decide to drag myself out of my warm bed almost two hours before I would normally wake up to prepare for work. As I groggily wipe my eyes and stumble in a zombie-like state out into the hall and down the stairs, Nigma is still on my mind. I just couldn't believe that he returns to disturbed my sleep on a nightly basis. That bastard has managed to invade my otherwise pleasant dreams to deliver his demented riddles that lead to nowhere. What is the meaning of such nonsense? Is it simply a coincidence? Do most people have reoccurring dreams that haunt them as frequently as Nigma does to me? Whatever, there's nothing to worry about…

When I finally reach the kitchen with the intent of pouring myself a bowl of cereal, I see a crumpled and torn piece of paper on the dining room table. At first I shrug it off, assuming that Valerie had rescued her shopping list from the washer again. On second thought, I somehow knew that the paper on the table was much, _much_ more than a grocery list. Call it intuition or call it absolute paranoia, but I knew that the note before me was much more important than the stale cereal I would otherwise have drowned in milk. Reaching a decision, I stumble a few steps over to the table and quickly snatch the note up to read it. My absolute worst fears were realized as my eyes graced the page and the words sank in.

_How can you keep a man from crying on a Monday morning?_

_ A: By killing him Sunday night!_

_-Edward Nigma_


End file.
